


Anyway, Here's Kirkwall

by ecarius



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biracial Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Custom Male Hawke, Gen, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-05-23 14:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecarius/pseuds/ecarius
Summary: Tarohne tries to summon an ancient demon with the help of the Fell Grimoire—and gets Mana. The jury's still out as towhy, but one thing's clear: unsummoning the not-demon is a lot harder said than done, if not impossible.(This is a rewrite.The original is now titledAnyway, Here's Kirkwall (Original)and has been discontinued.)





	1. In Which Mana Hears a Warning Siren

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give a huge shoutout to Fell and my sister, Jay. This rewrite wouldn't have happened if not for you both. Thank you! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! It’s been an age, I know, but I’m finally here, posting the rewrite of [the original version of Anyway, Here’s Kirkwall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691598/chapters/13111177). 
> 
> A few things to know:  
>  **1** ) In this universe, the Dragon Age games do NOT exist.  
>  **2** ) I will be using my custom Hawke, Alire, this go around instead of Garrett.  
>  **3** ) Ate, pronounced A-teh, is a Tagalog term of endearment for older female relatives (and non-relatives, too).  
> 

At noon, the emergency siren started to wail. 

Mana shoved her head under one of her pillows with a groan. The siren hadn’t woken her – her good pal, insomnia, had made sure of _that_ – but the siren irritated her nonetheless, especially since it was directly across the street from her apartment. 

“Why can’t you do your stupid test on a weekday?” she complained into the mattress.

The siren howled for a few seconds more, as if to spite her, then a dispassionate voice boomed, “THIS IS A TEST OF THE OUTDOOR EMERGENCY WARNING SYSTEM.” 

Mana dragged another pillow on top of her head, and sure enough, after a brief pause, the wailing started up again. 

From experience, she knew the alert lasted exactly twelve seconds. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—the alert started to fade out—nine, ten, eleven, twelve. 

Finally, silence.

Mana breathed a sigh of relief and uncovered her head. Cold air washed over her overheated face. The sensation soothed away some of her irritation, and she closed her eyes, determined to remain in bed for a little while longer. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep but—

There was a knock.

“Ate? You up?”

“Nope,” Mana said. “I am 100% down.” 

Her sister, Imelda, opened the door and shuffled inside. It was unusual for her to be up. Imelda didn’t usually rise until one or two on Saturdays—unless she wanted to go somewhere. 

Mana didn’t particularly want to leave her warm cocoon, especially since going out would mean showering and putting on a bra and digging through her closet for her red hooded coat, the only outwear she owned suitable for the sudden cold snap they were experiencing, so she burrowed deeper into the blankets and tried her best to look pitiful. 

“…did you sleep at all last night?” Imelda asked. 

Mana cracked open an eye, then sat up with a shrug. 

Imelda stood, frowning, in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Her concern was nearly palpable—but it took an extreme amount of effort on Mana’s part to keep from laughing at her. 

Imelda’s short, silver hair was sticking up in every conceivable direction, and she was wearing her Gremlin slippers, her D20 pajama pants, and an oversized t-shirt that read: “THAT’S PUSSY, BABE.” 

“Well?” Imelda prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Mana’s lip twitched. “I _did_ sleep.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh, come on,” Mana said, exasperated. “Would I lie to you?”

Imelda scoffed. “About this? _Yeah_.” She looked down her nose at Mana. “How many hours?”

Mana’s smiled wavered as she considered the question. “Maybe…four”—she winced—“and a half? On and off?” With a frown, she admitted, “I had another weird dream.” 

Imelda uncrossed her arms. “A green one?” 

Mana nodded.

She’d lost count of the number of times she’d dreamed of the weird green wasteland and its monstrous inhabitants, and it was starting to concern her a little. Her subconscious was clearly trying to tell her something, and she wasn’t convinced it was anything _good_. 

“Was it the hot, horned purple ladies with the”—Imelda gestured to her chest with a smirk—“or?”

“That was _one_ time, you brat!” Mana chucked a pillow at Imelda. It struck her in the stomach and bounced. Imelda raised a single eyebrow in response, and Mana’s nose wrinkled in displeasure. “What are you doing up anyway?” she wondered. 

“Oh!” Imelda said. “Mom texted me. Apparently, there’s a sale going down at the Fabric Outlet. Brocades are 50% off till 3 PM.”

Mana was glad of the change in subject but tried not to show it. “Damn. That never happens.” 

“Right? I’m hoping they still have that blue and black one I’ve been eyeballing.” Imelda picked up the discarded pillow and set it back on the bed. “Well? Get up. Time’s a wastin’.” 

“But it’s _cold_ outside.” 

“I know,” Imelda said, not without sympathy. “As usual, Georgia’s weather doesn’t make a lick of sense. _But dealsss_.”

Mana remained unconvinced. “Ugh.” 

“ _Come on,_ ” Imelda said, sticking out her lower lip. “It’s no fun to go alone—and anyway, I know _you’ve_ gotta go get fabric for your María Clara dress. You’re dancing the Cariñosa in what? February? You gotta get a move on.”

Mana made a face. Imelda was, unfortunately, right. She really should have bought the fabric for her dress already, all things considered. “ _Fine_ ,” she said. “Just—let me take a shower first.”

Imelda turned towards the door. “So long as it’s a quick one.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mana muttered, watching her sister disappear into the hall. “ _You’re_ one to talk.”

“I heard that!”

* * *

Mana found her red coat at the very back of her closet. It smelled a little musty, but she donned it anyway after her shower. The smell wasn’t anything a little warm vanilla body spray couldn’t fix—or, at least, help. 

“Ate?” Imelda called from the hallway, apparently having finished her shower in record time. “Have you seen the car keys?”

“Uh.” Mana spritzed herself and the coat with the spray. “They’re not in the kitchen on the hook?” 

“No?”

“Didn’t _you_ have them last?”

“…maybe?” 

Mana sighed. “Try the tray in the living room. You’re always setting things on top of my decorative centerpi—”

“Oh my God. It’s a fucking rock!” Imelda whined as she headed for the living room.

“It’s a _decorative sphere_ , you goblin,” Mana called after her. “Some of the big ones go for, like, thirty bucks at the home décor store.”

“Thirty?” Imelda said, scandalized. “Are you fucking shitting me? _It’s a rock_. Jesus! I can’t believe you bought that instead of—”

“I am _not_ buying MREs from a thrift store.” 

“But they’d be so handy when we do LARPing weekends!” 

“Nice try,” Mana said, dropping onto her bed, so she could put on her boots. “But I am not spending an entire weekend in the woods with a bunch of eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-year—”

“Ugh! They’re not here!” Imelda interrupted.

Mana finished zipping up her second boot, then headed for the living room, shaking her head every step of the way. 

She found Imelda standing by the coffee table, pawing through a bag of green peppermints with her brow furrowed in thought. “After I went to the store, I put the tampons in my bathroom, right? Then I put the empty shopping—”

Mana plucked the bag out of Imelda’s hand, transferred a handful of candies into her coat pocket, then handed the bag back. “Did you check your bathroom?” 

“No?” Imelda pouted, then headed back towards her room. 

As soon as her sister was out of sight, Mana checked on her rock. Imelda, in her search for the keys, had left it on the floor. They weren’t allowed to have pets in their complex, so the rock had become something of a pet. She knew it was silly, but she felt it was well within boundaries considering her sister dressed up as a literal goblin two or three times a month. 

Mana bent to pick it up. “Poor thing,” she said, brushing the carved surface with her fingers. Despite the chill in the air, the stone felt a little warm. It always did. That was one of the reasons it was so easy to think of it as a pet rather than an inanimate object. 

She set it back in its tray and gave it a fond pat when it didn’t roll. “Good boy,” she joked. 

The rock, of course, said nothing.

Mana’s stomach rumbled, and she took her phone out of her jeans to check the time. It was 1:21. “Hey!” she shouted. “You wanna grab lunch on the way to the store?” 

Mana’s question was answered with a crash and a “Damnit!” So, she temporarily abandoned that line of conversation to pick through a stack of envelopes and papers sitting on the arm of the nearest couch. 

“Credit card, insurance, _another_ credit card, letter from…” 

There was another crash.

“You all right in there?” No response. Mana waited a second, then tried, “Hellooo?”

“I’m fine! Just—”

“Found the keys?”

“No, I—” Imelda shrieked. “Damnit, yes! They’re in the trash can!” There was some rustling and groaning. “Ew, it’s got—”

Mana imagination took over from there. She set down the mail, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “I love you so, so, so very much, Imelda Valentina, but for the—”

Her ears popped in unison. 

It was the first sign something was off. 

“Valentina?” 

_That_ wasn’t her sister’s voice.

Mana opened her eyes—and immediately recoiled.

She was no longer in her apartment. 

Where there should have been pristine white plaster walls, there was rough wood. Where there should have been plush carpet, there was dirt. Where there should have been the warm scent of vanilla, there was _shit_. 

But most troublingly, Mana was not alone. 

There was a stranger standing before her. A brunette with grey eyes, wearing the most awful robes she’d ever seen in her life (and she’d seen quite a few, with Imelda’s LARPing). Her white lips were slowly stretching into a pleased smile, and she carried a carved black staff in one hand and a weighty tome in the other. 

“You’ve come,” the woman said, awed. “I didn’t expect…" Her eyes trailed up and down Mana’s form. “Are you a desire demon?”

“ _A desire demon?_ ” Mana sputtered, raising a hand to her chest where her heart was pounding, quick and erratic. 

“Forgive me. It’s just—” The woman glanced at her book. “I thought you were bound, like the others, but it seems you have a vessel? I wasn’t expecting—” She fell silent and became pensive. “Someone summoned you before me,” she guessed. “Made a deal?” 

She sounded jealous and very, very sure of herself. 

“Yes,” Mana said carefully. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, but she knew she had to keep talking. Nothing about her current situation made much sense, but she knew one thing: the woman standing before her was dangerous. Mana did not, under any circumstances, want to anger her. “I _was_ …summoned by someone else, but the deal—the deal is…done. I’m…free to make other…offers now.” 

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you? 

“Yes.” Mana cleared her throat and scanned the room with a slow turn of her head. “Who...are you exactly? And what do you want from me?” 

“I am Tarohne,” the woman said, straightening where she stood. “I have called you here to help me destroy the templars.” She tucked her book under her arm. “They believe they can rule over us mages forever, that they are our _masters_ , but I’ve found a way to infiltrate their ranks. Already, I have lured away a half dozen of their number and made them into abominations. If _Hawke_ would stop—”

Mana was still stuck on the “templar” bit and, so, blurted, “The Knights Templar?” 

Tarohne frowned. “Yes?” 

“Gotcha,” Mana said, trying not to sound so uneasy. It was clear they weren’t on the same book much less the same page. “I still don’t quite understand what you want from _me_?” 

With eyes narrowed, Tarohne asked, “Are you a sloth demon?” 

Mana squeaked, indignant despite herself. 

“No. Fear?” Tarohne scoffed. “Pride?”

“…Tarohne,” Mana said. “I’m not—”

“I won’t let you go,” Tarohne cut in, gesturing at Mana’s feet with her staff. 

Mana looked down. 

There was a sigil beneath her boots. Rich red and glistening. 

Blood.

Mana’s stomach turned, but she forced herself to look up again.

“It’s a binding circle,” Tarohne explained, pleased with her own forethought or Mana’s reaction or both. “And I won’t free you from it until you swear to give me the strength to destroy my enemies.”

Mana swallowed the lump in her throat. “Uh, all right.” 

“All right?” 

Mana tried to convince herself that this was a game, that she was just LARPing with Imelda. Playing pretend. “You strike a hard bargain, Tarohne,” she said, trying to smile. “I swear that I’ll help you.” 

“You swear that you’ll help me _destroy the templars_ ,” Tarohne said firmly. 

She pretended to think about it, not wanting to seem over eager. “I swear that I’ll help you destroy the templars.” 

Mana tensed as she scrambled for a next step.

Everything looked, sounded, and smelled real. The details were vivid and impossible to ignore or deny. It _felt_ absurd, but never had she ever felt so present in a space, so alive—and so vulnerable. 

Tarohne was dangerous. 

She decided that was the only fact she should worry about for the moment. The rest—the templars, the mages, the _displacement_ —could wait until she got Tarohne the hell away from her.

“First,” Mana said, terror threatening to steal her voice, “I need you to do something for me.” 

“What?” Tarohne asked, suspicious. 

“I require a…” She let her eyes drop to the sigil at her feet, _the blood_ at her feet, then smiled, with teeth. Because that’s, surely, what a demon would do. “…tribute.”

Tarohne returned the smile, pleased. “Of course. I have a templar already—” She gestured to the room’s only door. 

Mana’s pulse jumped. “Oh, come now,” she said, barely registering the words she was speaking. “A _fresh_ one, if you please.” Tarohne looked ready to protest, so she continued, “I ask so little. One…measly life for my…eternal servitude. Surely, you can…indulge me?” 

After a moment of consideration, Tarohne nodded. “I can,” she said, “but _you_ will remain in the circle until my return.” She lifted her chin. “Do we have a deal?” 

“Yes,” she lied. “It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations:  
>  **1** ) María Clara dress: A traditional dress in the Philippines. It's got sleeves like no other gown on Earth.  
>  **2** ) Cariñosa: A Filipino folk dance that utilizes a fan or handkerchief. It's basically a sort of flirty, courting dance. It's danced by one or more couples.  
>  **3** ) LARP: Stands for "Live Action Role-Playing."  
>  **4** ) MREs: Stands for "Meal, Ready-to-Eat." A field ration. (A friend of mine takes them camping sometimes. And before anyone asks, I _have_ seen them on sale in a thrift store. It was a little weird.)


	2. In Which Mana Goes for the Family Jewels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mana rescues an ungrateful damsel in distress, and it all goes downhill from there. Mostly.

Mana waited a good five minutes, just to make sure Tarohne was really gone, before stepping out of the sigil. 

Her escape was as easy as that despite all of Tarohne’s talk, but Mana didn’t feel any better about her situation. She still had no clue where she was or how she’d come to be there, and the only explanation Tarohne had inadvertently supplied her with was ridiculous. 

Magic. 

“As if,” Mana scoffed, especially comfortable in saying so after her too-easy escape from the binding circle. 

She took a deep breath and followed Tarohne’s footprints to the door, cycling through all the possibilities in her head. She was determined to ignore the strange circumstances of her arrival and the conversation that had followed and decided she must be hallucinating, drug-addled, or comatose. “Or maybe, I’m dead,” Mana muttered to herself. “My personal hell _would_ end up being some weird LARP game where I’ve been cast as a demon of all things."

She opened the door a crack, then wider when she saw no one lurking outside. 

The next room was much larger than the one with the sigil and contained a number of rundown wooden bookcases, tables, and chairs. Behind one of the tables, there was a rickety staircase leading up to a door which Mana registered as a possible escape, but the piece that caught and held Mana’s attention best was a lectern sandwiched between two of the bookcases. Or more specifically, the book lying open _on_ the lectern. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Mana whispered, even as she beelined for it. She tried to tell herself she was interested because it was a potential clue, but the real reason she was drawn to it was because it was familiar. 

She worked in an archive filled with books not unlike the one spread out before her, and for a second, she was able to pretend she was safe at the university, cataloging a new addition to the archive’s collection. 

But the fantasy didn’t hold. 

The book was a grimoire, filled with page after page of odd drawings, long-winded passages about magic—and sigils. 

Mana traced her fingers over a symbol that vaguely resembled her binding circle. Her fingertips prickled unpleasantly, and it almost felt as though the book—

“No,” Mana said, recoiling. “No. No. No. Don’t you start drinking the Kool-Aid, Mana. This is scene setting or—” She glanced around the room, grimacing at every bizarre detail, and quieted. 

“Tarohne’s delusional,” she said at last, only half-convinced of her own words. 

She took a shaky breath, and despite her best efforts to keep thinking of ways to proceed, ways to rationally explain what had happened, her thoughts turned to Imelda. 

Her little sister loved fantasy games, and adventure, and _magic_. No doubt, if she were in Mana’s place, she’d know exactly what to do. 

No doubt, she’d be _brave_. 

Mana took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, then, after a brief moment of hesitation, picked up the book and shoved it under her arm. “Looting’s RPG 101, isn’t it, Imelda? And—that’s what you would have done, right?” 

To her horror, tears started to prick at the corner of her eyes, so she took another deep breath and quickly focused her attention on the nearest bookcase. 

She pawed through the books, looking for anything else that might be useful. “ _Death of a…Templar_?” she read, making a face. “A little on the nose there, Tarohne. _Discovering Dragon's Blood: Potions, Tinctures, and Spicy Sauces_. O-kay. No.” 

A book bearing the title _The Alchemist's Encyclopedia_ jingled when she tugged it out of its slot to examine the cover, and sure enough, when she opened it, she found it to be hollow. There was a pouch filled with coins nestled inside, each engraved with unfamiliar faces, and their sizes and shapes were all wrong, too. 

Mana shoved the pouch into her boot, with Imelda’s gaming tactics still at the forefront of her mind. Currency was always a top concern in an RPG—and it’s not as if Tarohne didn’t deserve to be robbed after all she’d put Mana through. 

Someone screamed in the distance.

Mana jumped and, without thinking, darted for the stairs and the door. 

“Oh, shit.” 

The door hadn’t led her to an exit but another large room—and it was occupied, by a blond man with no shirt or shoes. He was curled up in the fetal position, seemingly asleep. 

The “oh, shit,” however, wasn’t for the man. It was for the white mist swirling around him. 

Mana might have counted it off as a cheap parlor trick if it weren’t for the fact that it was the only thing holding the man in place, _six feet up in the air_. 

“ _You’re_ the templar,” she said, eyes widening. “Shit.” 

The man remained still and didn’t acknowledge her revelation.

There was another spike of adrenaline, but this time, Mana resisted her urge to flee. 

A terrible truth dropped into her head: if she left him, he’d die. Tarohne had been all too eager to offer this guy up as a sacrifice and would most definitely kill him in the future if Mana didn’t do something. 

She spun in a circle, looking for a way to deactivate the spell, but there was nothing else in the room but a cracked vase and a plain wooden staff. 

With a sigh, Mana took up the staff. 

Nothing happened, and she was equal parts disappointed and relieved. She had no other plan besides, perhaps, abandoning him, so she gave it a tentative wave. “Uh? Shoo?” she tried, squinting at the mist. 

The mist continued swirling. 

“Maybe I’m too far away?” Mana muttered, looking at the six-foot gap between herself and the man with a grimace. It might as well have been a chasm of fire, but Mana steeled herself and moved so she was close enough to see individual, hair-like strands of magic weaving around the man’s prone form. 

She gave the mist a poke. 

This time, it hissed and recoiled from the tip of the staff. 

Mana didn’t allow herself time to think of the implications and gave the strands another stab. “Come on,” she said. “Leave the poor guy—”

The white mist disintegrated, and the man dropped in a heap at Mana’s feet, kicking up a cloud of foul-smelling dust. 

“Ugh,” Mana said, tucking her nose into the bend of her elbow. 

“Ugh,” the man said. His fingers twitched, then his legs unfurled. And suddenly, he was shoving himself up onto his knees and looking wildly all around the room. 

His eyes passed over Mana once and quickly returned. “You—” His nose wrinkled in confusion. “You’re not—"

“Uh, yeah,” Mana said. She hadn’t really expected her efforts to work, so she had no clue how to explain herself. “I’m not Tarohne. I’m—”

The man scrambled to his feet, eyes darting between Mana’s face and the staff. “You’re an apostate,” he said. 

Mana blinked at the accusation and said, a beat too late, “No." First, a demon. Now, an apostate. What the hell was next? 

“Don’t try and trick me!” The man’s voice cracked, and his cheeks flared red in embarrassment. His hand went to his waist, but the weapon he clearly expected to be there was absent. 

Mana had the strangest feeling he wasn’t expecting said weapon to be a _gun_. 

“I’m not trying to trick you,” Mana said. “Tarohne…kidnapped me, too. I was just trying to help you.”

For a minute, it seemed as though the man believed her, but he quickly shook his head and scowled. “I told you, apostate,” he said, voice hard and cold. “I won’t be tricked, not again. You’re one of her—”

Mana’s eyes darted to the next door, and with a shake of her head, she slowly backed towards it.

The man’s eyes followed her gaze to the door. 

Mana bolted. 

The man gave a shout and pursued, and in seconds, he’d managed to get hold of Mana’s staff, then her arm. 

The book fell out of her hands as the he dragged her backwards, shouting, “You won’t get away with this, maleficar!”

Mana tugged hard on the staff, but the man’s grip was like iron. “What does that even mean?” she blurted, kicking him in the shin. 

The kick unbalanced him, but he didn’t loosen his hold on the staff or her arm. Instead, he yelped, hopped, and toppled over, taking Mana with him. 

“Let go!” Mana cried. She was half on top of him, but she didn’t dare let go of the staff for fear he would use it against her. 

“No!” He didn’t seem inclined to let go of her or the staff either, even despite the undignified position they were both in. “Not until you tell me her plans for me—and the other recruits!” He used his weight to flip her onto her back, and Mana finally was forced to let go. He pressed the length of the staff into her neck to pin her in place, and no amount of pushing or scratching on her part budged it. 

“I don’t know,” Mana said finally, panting and afraid. “I’m not…whatever you think I am. I’m just—” Mana sneezed. 

They’d kicked up a lot of dirt in their fight. 

“You’re just?” 

Mana let one of her hands drop into the dirt. “I’m just an _archivist_ , all right? I work in a library. I’m not a demon or an apostate or a malefiwhatever.” 

“You’re a—? Wait. A _malefiwhatever?_ ” the man echoed, brow furrowing. “Then what are—”

Mana didn’t give him time to finish his question. Instead, she tossed a fist full of dirt into his face and used the staff to shove him away. 

“Shit!” he said, stumbling back from her. He managed to stay on his feet, but he was wide open. 

Mana stood with staff in hand and went right for the family jewels, just as her dad had taught her. 

“Fuck!” He dropped to his knees and curled in on himself, hissing in pain.

Mana quickly gathered up the book she’d dropped and ran like hell.

* * *

Since the mist, Mana had started to come around to the idea that magic was real and that she might be very, very far away from home indeed—but that still didn’t prepare her for the sea. 

After passing through countless doors and winding corridors, she ran out onto a platform bordered on one side by a series of large rectangular openings cut into the surrounding rock through which she could see the sun, and she finally allowed herself to stop running. 

She tried to catch her breath as discreetly as possible. Since her escape from Tarohne’s lair, she’d passed a great number of dismal souls, many with an all-too-familiar look of hunger in their eyes. 

Her bright red coat didn’t help. Everything in this place was drab. Gray and brown. Soot and earth. 

Her red coat was like a beacon. It drew eyes. 

Mana shuddered at the thought but didn’t dare remove it. It was chilly, and she felt any moment of vulnerability, however short, might be exploited. There was an almost unfathomable sort of desperation in the air. 

She drew Tarohne’s book tighter to her chest and approached one of the openings, hoping the sunlight would help clear her head. 

It didn’t. 

Because far below her, there was the tumultuous sea. Wooden ships with white sails passed over the dark waves, bearing unfamiliar flags, and the waves battered and broke over columns of basalt rock. 

She turned away from the strange sight and used her staff to ease herself down to the ground. 

It looked, smelled, and sounded _so_ real. Unlike in a dream, the details were sharp. The dirt felt slick and damp between her fingers. The air smelled of sewage and, now, salt. And even from where she was sitting, isolated from the other miserable people trapped in this awful place, she could hear the low mummer of conversation—and the shouts and the screams and, sometimes, the clashing of blades. 

It was too real. It almost made her think her life before had been the dream. 

There was a brief flicker of fear, then a realization. 

Mana set the book on the ground next to her to search through her pocket. She relaxed as soon as her fingers brushed the smooth surface of her phone. 

She glanced over her shoulder. There were two red-headed young boys speaking lowly by what appeared to be a mining cart, but after a few minutes of careful observation, she decided they weren’t much interested in her. 

Even so, she was careful when she took the phone from her pocket and made sure to shield it from view. 

It was 2:12, according to her home screen, and she, of course, had no service. 

She tried to send a text anyway. When that failed, she called Imelda, then her mom, then her dad. Each time, the call failed to connect, and even with the volume low and the speaker muffled by her hands and coat, she could faintly hear the dreaded automated message: “We’re sorry, but this service is currently unavailable.” It was Facebook Messenger next, and when that inevitably didn’t work, Mana was forced to admit her phone, at present, only served as a reminder that her home was, indeed, real. 

Mana slid the phone back into her pocket, took a deep breath and rubbed at her face with her sleeve, trying to piece together a viable plan of action. 

Slowly, she turned to look at the book, her only real lead. “Uh.” 

One of the boys from earlier was not five steps behind her now, and his bright blue eyes were fixed on the book. 

Mana’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. 

There was a little guilt in the boy’s eyes when he met Mana’s gaze, but that didn’t stop him from darting forward, snatching up the book, and running.

“Wait!” Mana climbed to her feet, waving her staff, but the boy’s older friend was waiting for her. He gave her a shove, then started driving her back by throwing rocks. 

Mana instinctively covered her head and fell back, flinching each time a rock landed true. A particularly big one hit her in the middle of the chest, and a sharp pain punched through her, stunning her for a few minutes. 

By the time she looked up again, the second boy was gone, too.

As Mana bore out the pain, the gravity of what had just happened slowly sunk in. 

The book was her big lead, and it was gone.

Again, tears threatened to make an appearance.

“No,” Mana said, squeezing the staff in her hand tight. “That did _not_ just happen.” She glared at the path the thief had taken and started running. 

They couldn’t have gotten that far ahead, she told herself.

* * *

After a dozen twists and turns, a discouraged Mana gave up on catching the boys. She was hopelessly lost, and the smell of the underground was starting to make her feel nauseous. 

She found a steep staircase, hidden behind a bunch of half-rotted crates down some corridor, and started her ascent. 

As she approached the landing of the staircase, Mana slowed and lurked in the shadows, exhausted from the climb, and tried her phone again. 

Nothing. 

This time, she turned her phone off before returning it to her pocket. She’d started the morning with 100% battery and was now down to 88%. 

She took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight, but just as before, she didn’t feel any better for having it warm her skin. 

The smell of the underground lingered on her clothes, and the aboveground, though a step up, still wasn’t pleasant. Everything was made of smooth stone, but there were wooden spikes and chains and debris everywhere as though the city was anticipating some kind of invasion—or had just survived one. 

All the buildings were clustered together and stacked on top of each other like the world’s saddest cake. Tattered red banners hung from the top tiers of some of the buildings. 

Mana winced at the questionable black substance oozing down the sides of some of the buildings, and in unconsciously tracing its origins up the buildings, she caught sight of not one but two moons in the sky. 

She stared, then with a shake of her head, muttered, “Why am I even surprised?” 

After that, she leaned a bit more heavily on her staff, but she continued on, through the maze of streets. 

She had no idea where she was going, but after a while, an eerie sort of calm descended on her.

After a stretch, Mana even paused to examine a spikey ‘lantern’ hanging off the side of a building – the flame had no housing or fuel source, but it was burning strong – just as a man stepped out of the adjacent door. 

He was around her dad’s age with hair slicked back and silver, and his skin was not unlike Mana’s. A warm bronze. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles like hers, too.

In the spirit of this perhaps flimsy kinship, Mana offered a wave and tried, “Uh, hi?” 

The man reeled back. “ _Revka_?” he said. 

Mana blinked. “No?”

The man squinted at her, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course not,” he muttered. “She’s—” He dropped his hand, so he could cross his arms. “What do you want?” 

“Help,” Mana blurted. “I—” She floundered, not at all sure what she should reveal or not reveal. Was her situation normal in this place? With its magic? And its templars? And its two moons? “You see, I’m—uh. It’s just—”

The man closed his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’ve just arrived in Kirkwall, I take it?” 

“Yes?”

His eyebrows shot up. 

“Yes,” Mana said, because it wasn’t exactly a lie. 

“Do you have family here?” 

There was something about his tone that gave Mana pause, but after a moment, she gave up trying to figure out what his deal was and shook her head. “No.” 

“You’ve got nowhere to stay, I’m guessing? And no…prospects?”

“Uh.”

The man uncrossed his arms with a roll of his eyes. “Try the Lowtown Bazaar,” he said. “Lirene’s Fereldan Imports. They’ll help you.” 

“And where—”

The man pointed, and Mana started off in the direction he’d indicated. She paused once to say, “Thanks, uh…” 

He gave her an unimpressed look down his nose, then after a beat, he threw up his hands and said, “Oh, what’s the harm! Gamlen.”

Pleased to have finally come out of a conversation unscathed, Mana smiled brightly and gave him a little wave. “Thanks again, Gamlen!” 

To her amusement, his face turned red, and he darted back into the building which was presumably his house, muttering darkly about something he’d forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, Mana will meet at least one member of Hawke's squad next chapter. >>


	3. In Which Mana Meets Varric

Mana wandered the Lowtown Bazaar in a daze. 

Merchants, stationed at stalls beneath faded red shades, shouted at seemingly every turn, trying to convince passersby to buy amulets, potions, weapons, armor, and countless other bizarre items.

A woman with pointed ears – an elf Mana dimly realized – tried to entice her with a basket of small leather pouches, and a dwarf a stone’s throw away from her directed Mana’s attention to a dented shield bearing two red animals that looked vaguely like dogs.

Mana shook her head at both of them, unable to get out any words, and quickly scurried up a short staircase, struggling to remember why exactly she’d come to the Bazaar in the first place. 

“Good afternoon, my lady,” a man in a blue tunic greeted from behind a table laden with books and jewelry. He had a different accent from all the others she’d spoken with. “Could it be that you are from Antiva?”

Hesitantly, Mana approached his stall, hoping beyond all hope that he might have a copy of the grimoire she’d found in Tarohne’s lair—or, at the very least, a book that might help her understand how and why she’d come to this Kirkwall place. 

The man seemed to take her silence as a no. “Perhaps Rivain then?” 

“No. I’m—” Mana clamped her mouth shut. 

“Nevarra? 

Mana shook her head and opened her mouth to ask her own question, but the man kept at it. 

“Hercinia?”

“Yeah,” Mana said, mostly to keep him from quizzing her further.

The man smiled, triumphant. “You’re quite a long way from home,” he said. “Might I suggest this”—he selected a necklace decorated with rubies from the table and dangled it from his fingers—“to remind you of home? It was crafted in Antiva, but the jewels are from—”

Mana’s attention quickly drifted from the necklace to the books on the table. 

The man followed her gaze and, to his credit, changed gears immediately. “Or, perhaps, a copy of _The Rose of Orlais_ or one by Kirkwall’s own Master—”

“Do you have any books on magic?” Mana interrupted. 

The man tensed and scanned the crowd before answering, “Serah, I am a _reputable_ man.” His eyes wide were wide with panic. 

Mana winced. “I’m sorry. I just—” 

The man shook his head once, then indicated with a jerk of his head to something behind her. 

When Mana turned around, her eyes were immediately drawn to a man and a woman in gleaming silver armor descending from one of the bigger staircases leading out of the Bazaar. Their chest plates were emblazoned with a strange symbol. A flaming sword.

“Who?” Mana whispered, turning back to the merchant. The pair had looked as if they might be guards or soldiers, but she didn’t understand why the merchant had pointed them out. She’d only asked a simple question.

“You shouldn’t have come to Kirkwall,” the man said, shooting a significant look at her staff. “This is not a place for…” He shook his head again.

“For?”

“Shh!”

The man in armor came to stand beside Mana. “Vincento!” he greeted stiffly. 

“Ser Mettin,” the merchant, Vincento, said, bowing his head graciously. He turned to the woman, who’d positioned herself on the other side of Ser Mettin, and bowed his head again. “Ser Agatha. Could I interest you in—”

Agatha put up a hand. “No, no. Not today.” 

“We heard you’d returned from Antiva,” Mettin said. Though the question was directed at Vincento, his attention was fixed on Mana. He looked suspicious of her. 

“Yes,” Vincento said. “Does the Knight-Commander have need of anything from the north? As I said before, I can easily procure anything the Knight-Commander might desire.” 

“I’m sure you can.” Mettin stood straighter. “Vincento, we heard a rumor you were recently looking to hire a ship to transport certain…goods out of the city.”

Vincento’s smile faltered. “You must be mistaken, ser,” he said. “I never—”

Mettin raised an eyebrow, and Mana shuddered. The look in Mettin’s eyes made her feel slimy all over. 

“We’re only here to caution you,” Agatha said gently. “You don’t want to get mixed up”—her eyes drifted to Mana—“in anything that might jeopardize your business.” 

“Of course not,” Vincento said firmly. 

“Good,” Agatha said, offering a smile. “Have you come for something to match your…coat, serah?” she asked Mana, raising an eyebrow at her attire. 

Mana jerked, surprised to be addressed, and flushed red. “Uh, I came for a book.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vincento stiffening, but she quickly added, “I heard Vincento had a copy of _The Rose of Orlais_ and—”

Mettin made a face and backed a step as though Mana’s interest, however feigned, might be contagious. 

“I prefer _The Viper’s Nest_ ,” Agatha said. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have that one.” Vincento looked glad about the subject change. “But I do have _Darktown’s Deal_.” 

“Eh,” Agatha said. “Not as good. But better than _The Rose of Orlais_.” She smiled at Mana. “Have you read either, serah?”

“No,” Mana answered uneasily. “But I think I’ll go with that one instead of _The Rose of Orlais_ , if you think it’s better.”

“Maker,” Mettin said, shaking his head. “Come on, Agatha.” 

Before he turned away, he gave Mana a hard, undecipherable look, and Mana did her best not to squirm under the weight of his stare. 

Agatha offered a wave. “I hope you enjoy the book.”

The two departed, speaking quietly between themselves, and Mana watched their backs until they disappeared into the crowd. 

“That was—”

“Four silvers,” Vincento said. 

When Mana turned back, he had _Darktown’s Deal_ in his hand. 

Mana blinked. “What?”

“Four silvers,” Vincento repeated. “ _You_ drew them here.” 

“Uh, right,” Mana said, unsure if that really was the case. She retrieved the coin purse she’d stolen from Tarohne, fished out four of the silver coins, and handed them over. She did feel a little guilty about the encounter. 

Vincento passed her the book. “Thank you. Now _please_ go.” A pause. “And don’t come back.” 

The command made Mana want to stay and ask more questions, but the fear in his eyes kept her silent. 

With a nod, she reentered the fray and refocused herself on original task of finding Lirene’s Fereldan Imports.

* * *

“Uh, hi,” Mana said. “Gamlen suggested I come here? I’ve sort of—”

The woman standing behind the counter, who was presumably Lirene, raised an eyebrow. “Gamlen?” 

“Yes?” 

“To think I lived to see the day where that man helped anyone,” Lirene muttered with a shake of her head. Her mouth snapped shut suddenly, and she squinted at Mana. “Where did you say you came from?”

“I didn’t,” Mana said slowly. “But Hercinia.” 

Lirene frowned at her answer and stared some more. “Are you staying with Gamlen?” 

“Oh, no,” Mana said in a rush. “We don’t really know each other that well? I don’t actually know anyone in the city. He just…helped me out.”

“I see.” Lirene sounded more than a little skeptical, but thankfully, she didn’t press. “You’re looking for work?” 

“Yes,” Mana lied. She had a feeling it was the right answer to give if she wanted Lirene’s help. “I, uh, used to work in a library archive?” 

“ _A library archive_?” a silver-haired woman working down the counter echoed, looking up from a sword she was sharpening. 

From what Mana could tell, Lirene’s Fereldan Imports seemed to be half charity, half shop. Lirene, it seemed, was dealing with the charity cases for the moment.

“Yes?” Mana said.

“It’s unlikely you’ll find one of those to work in here, serah,” Lirene said bluntly. “But you might be able to convince one of the merchants to take you on. Vincento’s returned recently. Maybe—”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Mana interrupted. 

“Oh? Why?” 

Mana blushed and, instead of answering, said, “I can also sew.”

“Oh?” Lirene said again, this time intrigued. “That makes things easier. Plenty of need for seamstresses.” A pause. “If you’re willing to do some work here at the shop, you can stay for a while. It’s not much, but it’s a place to lay your head. And if you’re halfway decent with a needle, you’ll find work in no time and be able to afford a place of your own.”

“Thanks.” Mana did her best to sound grateful, but she didn’t feel it. The thought of being stuck long enough to need permanent work and housing scared the shit out of her. 

Lirene hummed. “I know…you may have a history with Vincento, but he’s a reasonable man, as far as I can tell. Why don’t you see if he’s in need of someone with your…talents?”

“But—”

“I really don’t have anything for you to do right now,” Lirene said, waving her away. She heaved a sigh when Mana opened her mouth to protest again, then added firmly, “Are you really in the position to be picky, serah?”

“No,” Mana said in a small voice. 

“Well then. You might get lucky with him—or if not him, one of the others.” She shook her head. "Come back in a few hours, before it gets dark. I should have some work for you by then.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mana slunk towards the door, feeling defeated despite having secured temporary work and lodging. 

It didn’t feel like an accomplishment. It felt like giving in to Kirkwall and giving up on going home. 

As soon as the door closed behind her, Mana pinched herself and decided she _would_ go see Vincento again. 

He knew something, and Mana, desperate not to become a permanent fixture in Kirkwall, resolved that she would find out exactly what that something was.

* * *

As soon as Vincento caught sight of her, he busied himself with his wares. He refused to look up, even when Mana parked herself directly in front of his stall for a few minutes. 

“I’m really sorry about before,” Mana said, finally breaking the awkward silence. “But I really, really need your help. I know you know—”

Vincento’s head whipped up. “I don’t know anything!” 

Mana jumped, startled by the volume. 

“I don’t know why you’ve singled me out, serah,” Vincento said in a calmer tone. “But I can’t help you. I’m just a merchant.” 

“Please. Just—”

“No! I told you. I can’t help you. I _won’t_!”

“But it’s just a few questions!” Mana insisted, desperate. “I swear! I’m—”

“Leave, you—” His mouth clamped shut, and he plastered on a fake smile. “Master Tethras,” he said. “Can I help you?” 

Mana followed Vincento’s eyes. 

The man, or rather dwarf, Vincento had addressed was standing a little ways behind her with a mechanism made of metal and wood slung across his back. His red hair was pulled back away from his face, revealing a pair of gold earrings, and the red V of his tunic plunged so low, Mana found herself blushing. 

Tethras winked when he caught her looking. “Oh, no,” he said, all charm. “But maybe I can help you?” He gave Mana a significant look and, with amusement in his voice, said, “You seem to have a problem.” 

“No,” Vincento lied. 

“Really?” Tethras said with a laugh. “Because you were both shouting awfully loud.” 

Vincento shifted his weight and started worrying his hands. “She wanted me to come down on a price,” he lied, shooting Mana a glare. “I found her offer…unreasonable.” 

Tethras drifted closer to the stall and raised an eyebrow at Mana. “You were trying to _cheat_ this poor man?” he teased. 

“What?” Mana said. Even though she could tell he was joking, she couldn’t help but feel offended by the accustation. “No! I—”

Tethras laughed. 

Vincento hissed suddenly, and a look of realization passed across his face. “Hawke,” he spat, eyes flickering between Mana and Tethras. “He told you to come to me, didn’t he?”

Tethras’ eyes sharpened. “And why would he do that?” 

“You know why.” Vincento scanned the Bazaar with restless eyes. “I told you. I did what I could for—” He took a shuddered breath and briefly closed his eyes. “I don’t care what he did. I don’t owe him anything, and I don’t want anything to do with any of this,” he gritted out. 

“I don’t know any—" Mana started to say. 

Vincento turned his back to them.

“Come on,” Tethras said to her, giving her a nudge. “I don’t think he likes you very much.”

“But—” When she saw Vincento tense, her shoulders dropped, and she gave up. Another dead end. 

Tethras headed for a staircase leading to a lower level of the Bazaar, and Mana followed, mostly because she had no idea what else to do. 

“ _Darktown’s Deal_ , huh?”

“What?” Mana’s eyes dropped to the book clutched in her hand. “Oh. Yeah. I bought it earlier, from Vincento.”

“That why you two were fighting? 

From his tone, Mana knew he knew that wasn’t what they’d been fighting about at all, but still, she refused to admit it. “Maybe.” On impulse, she lied, “He wanted too much for it.”

“And how much is too much?” Tethras asked, amused.

“Four silvers.” 

“What price would you have preferred then?” 

“I don’t know,” Mana said, a little annoyed at his tone. He acted as if he knew something she didn’t. “I didn’t want the book in the first place. I only bought it because I got him in trouble earlier—” She scowled at the admission but went on, knowing the damage had already been done, “Or, at least, he seemed to think it was me who got him in trouble.” 

“Who _are_ you again?” 

“Who are _you_?” Mana countered. 

“Varric Tethras. Roguishly handsome businessman and”—he pointed at the book—“author.” 

Slowly, Mana turned the book to examine the spine. “Oh.” She blinked, then offered a sheepish half-smile. “Oops?”

Varric waved his hand, prompting her to give her own introduction. 

“Manahan de la Paz—but you can just call me Mana. I’m an…archivist. Or, uh, I was.” She took a breath. “And I’m from Hercinia.” 

“And what brings a Hercinian archivist to Kirkwall?” 

“A kidnapping,” Mana muttered grimly, more to herself than to Varric. 

“I bet _that’s_ a story.”

“Yeah.” Mana shook her head. “But I can’t tell it right now. I’ve gotta—”

Varric raised his eyebrows. 

“Find some books?” Mana finished lamely. 

“What? Mine not going to do it for you?” Varric teased. 

“Yeah, no.” Mana winced. “Sorry. But I need—” She shook her head. With the way Vincento reacted, it didn’t seem like a good idea to mention magic. 

“Oh, come on,” Varric said. “You told me _four silvers_ was too much for my book. The least you could do is tell me what kind of book _would_ be worth four silvers—or more.” When it was clear that wasn’t enough to convince Mana, Varric tried, “You got Vincento all riled up, so I’m guessing it has something to do with mages?”

Mana blinked. “How did you—?”

“Well, it’s that, and your walking stick there.” 

Instead of responding to that comment, Mana asked, “Isn’t there any other places to buy or borrow books around here?”

“On—?” 

Varric was clearly trying to get her to spill more clues about her situation, but Mana refused to give in. She needed more information about the magic; there were clearly things she needed to know about it before she went around asking anymore questions.

“On _anything_?” she said.

“The Keep’s got a library,” Varric said slowly, “but you’d have to be good friends with the Viscount to use it. Hubert sometimes has some books in stock, but you’d probably be more likely to find what you’re looking for…at the Gallows.” 

Mana made a face. “The Gallows?” It didn’t sound promising at all. 

“You know, it would be a lot easier to give you advice if you’d just tell me what exactly you were looking for.”

“I’m not looking for anything specific,” Mana lied. “Um, where’s the Gallows?”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “How long have you been in Kirkwall?” 

“I don’t know,” Mana said. “Maybe three hours?” 

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you to the Gallows.”

“ _Really_?” Mana said, pleasantly surprised by his offer. After maybe a fraction of a second, her surprise quickly turned to suspicion. “Wait. Why? What do you get out this?” 

“Me? Nothing,” Varric said too glibly. When Mana squinted at him, he put up his hands and admitted, “What can I say? I’m nosy. I want to see how this ends.” 

He sounded sincere enough, but Mana still frowned, not liking the sound of his last statement. It sounded like he expected this, whatever _this_ was, to end in tragedy.

“Okay. That’s…some kind of reason,” Mana said. Considering this was her only lead, she felt she had to pursue it despite the obvious risks. “Lead on, I guess?”

Varric shook his head. “Not today. Tomorrow?”

Suspicion reared its head again. “Why tomorrow?” 

“It’s going to be dark soon.” 

Varric said it as though she should know why that was such a deciding factor, and she didn’t want to reveal her ignorance on the subject so she simply nodded. “Right. Tomorrow then. I’m… staying at Lirene’s Fereldan Imports right now. Do you know where that is?” The look on Varric’s face was a clear answer – _duh, I know where it is_ – so she went on, “We could meet there?”

Varric regarded her with interest for a moment, then grinned. “Fine by me.” 

After offering her a parting wave, he promptly disappeared into a building down the way. There was a wooden cut out of a hanged man dangling from a signpost next to it. 

“God, I hate this place,” Mana muttered, shaking her head and turning from the sight.


	4. In Which Mana Goes to the Gallows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and kind comments! I really, really, really appreciate each and every one of them, and I hope you're enjoying the story so far. This chapter's bring us past the 10K mark! Woo!

After an hour of wandering the Bazaar, Mana noticed that the sun had started to sink towards the horizon. She hurried back to Lirene’s shop, not keen on finding out why Lirene and Varric didn’t think she should be out on the streets after dark. 

Lirene seemed to sense her talk with Vincento hadn’t gone well because she didn’t ask any questions upon Mana’s return. Instead, she directed Mana to the backroom of the shop. “Go on and help with dinner,” she said. “I have some mending for you to work on after.” 

Nodding, Mana headed into the next room where a haggard looking pair was in the process of making some kind of stew. The rest of Mana’s fellow down-and-outers were busy passing around wooden bowls and utensils. 

“You must be the Hercinian,” one of the cooks greeted, dropping what looked like a handful of potato into the stew. 

Stew splashed out of the pot and splattered the tunic of the woman next to him, and she jumped back with a hiss and a scowl. “Watch it, Jarin!”

“Shit. Sorry, Malkyn.”

“Yeah,” Mana answered once their attention returned to her. “You can call me Mana. Lirene said to help with dinner?” 

“Ah.” Jarin looked around their workstation with a frown. “We’re almost done here.”

“You can serve,” Malkyn said gruffly. 

Mana winced at Malkyn’s tone but agreed. “All right.” She took a step back, prepared to wait in the wings until the two were ready for her to step in, but Jarin stopped her with a question. 

“You lose your fortune or something?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re here,” Jarin said slowly. 

“Kirkwall isn’t the kind of place you come to by choice, not unless you’re selling something or a noble,” Malkyn explained. “Us Fereldans, we came because of the Blight. We wouldn’t be here if not for that.” 

“And the fact that we don’t have enough money to go home yet,” Jarin muttered. 

“I didn’t lose my fortune,” Mana said carefully. “Because I never had one to begin with, but you’re right. I’m not here by choice—and like you, I don’t have…the resources to go home yet.” 

There was a period of awkward silence, then Malkyn exhaled loudly. “Do you miss it?” she asked. 

“Hercinia?” Malkyn rolled her eyes, and Mana smiled sheepishly. Of course, that’s what she meant. “Well, yeah.” She thought of Georgia as she spoke but told herself her answer wasn’t a complete lie. “It’s home.” 

“Kirkwallers aren’t wrong about Fereldan,” Jarin said. “It’s a muddy backwater that smells of dog, but Maker, if I wouldn’t give anything to be there now.” 

“Are you saving money to go back?” Mana asked tentatively, unsure if that was an appropriate question. 

Malkyn snorted. “Not much to save these days.” She flipped the question around on Mana. “What about you? Lirene mentioned you had a friend amongst the merchants.” 

“Uh. No. No friends amongst the merchants,” Mana said. 

Jarin smiled, sympathetic. “Well, with so many people heading back to Fereldan, there’s been more work at least. You’ll find something.”

Lirene entered the room with a small pile of clothes in her arms and raised an eyebrow at Mana. “No luck in the market?” she guessed.

Mana shook her head. 

“We’ll ask around tomorrow and see if we can’t—” 

“Actually, uh, I’m supposed to be meeting someone tomorrow,” Mana interrupted apologetically. “Varric Tethras? He’s a—”

Lirene halted in her tracks. “I know who he is,” she said, unimpressed. “What does he want with you?”

Since Mana could hardly tell her she was searching for books rather than jobs, she was forced to fib. “Well, he said he might, you know, be able to help me out?”

Lirene looked from Malkyn to Jarin, then squinted at Mana. “How do you know Varric?” 

“I don’t really. He just stopped me after I talked to Vincento. I guess he overhead our conversation and…took pity on me?” It was clear Lirene didn’t believe her, and when she dared to glance at Jarin and Malkyn, she saw they didn’t either. It wasn’t all that surprising. She’d never been the best of liars.

“There’s very little pity to go around in Kirkwall,” Lirene said tiredly, depositing the clothes into Mana’s arms with a shake of her head. “You need to be more careful.” 

Mana worried her lip. “Then I shouldn’t meet him?” 

“Have you killed anyone recently?” Malkyn wondered. 

“No!” Mana blurted, shocked. Every pair of eyes in the room fell on her, and she blushed. More calmly, she said again, “No.” 

Jarin tasted the stew. “Consorted with any demons?” 

Mana’s pulse jumped as her thoughts turned to Tarohne—and the templar she’d freed who’d been convinced Mana was in league with Tarohne, but again, she answered, “No. Of course not.”

Jarin and Malkyn exchanged a look.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about then,” Lirene said. “Varric doesn’t usually cause trouble for anybody who doesn’t deserve it.” As an afterthought, she added, “Or Hawke, for that matter.”

“That’s good?”

Lirene snorted again. “You can set those”—she nodded at the clothes, then jerked her chin in the direction of the cot nearest the door—“on your bed. After dinner, I’ll give you the needles and thread and such.” 

“Stew’s as ready as it’ll ever be,” Jarin said, motioning Mana over. 

Mana left the clothes as well as her staff and book on the cot, served the stew, and then sat amongst Lirene and the others to eat. Despite having not eaten all day, she didn’t feel the least bit hungry, but still, she forced herself to eat. 

Every bite tasted of ash.

* * *

The mending barely took any time at all, so Mana was free to go to bed early—and, to her relief, avoid further conversation with Lirene and the others.

Everyone staying at Lirene’s seemed nice enough, if a bit ragged and suspicious, but they were all terribly curious about life in Hercinia. 

Since Mana couldn’t enlighten them on that front, she was forced to give vague answers and ask questions like, “What do _you_ think Hercinia’s like?” to try and glean as much information about her “homeland” as possible. 

So far, she’d learned that it was one of the wealthier coastal city-states in the Free Marches. It had gained its wealth through trade with Antiva – from her first conversation with Vincento, she guessed much of the money came from mining gemstones – and because of this wealth, they had a lot of problems with raiders. 

These were all good facts to know, but they didn’t give Mana any peace of mind—and neither did sleep. 

It was the same old on that front. 

She floated right on the edge of sleep for most of the night, and the one time she managed to drift off completely, she started dreaming of the wasteland and its monsters again. 

This time, she’d been greeted by a lanky treelike creature with a gaping maw. It laughed and teased her in low hiss of a voice. “You’ll never get home,” it said. “And Tarohne will find you. What do you think she’ll do, Mana, when she finds out the truth? She hasn’t summoned a demon. She’s summoned a scared little librarian. A liar. A _coward_.”

Mana shook her head, throwing herself away from its twig-like fingers when it reached for her. 

The creature laughed. “It’s happened, you know. You’ve finally lost it. You believe this”—the landscape around them morphed into the Lowtown Bazaar—“is real. Isn’t that proof enough of your madness? Come here, my dear. I will show you the truth.”

“No,” Mana said. “I—I know what I saw.” 

“ _You—you know what you saw_ ,” it mocked. “Elves! Dwarves! Mages! You believe all that was real? You believe you’re important enough that someone would summon _you_?”

Mana made a face. “No. That’s a mistake. For sure. But—” 

“But?” The creature drew closer again. “But it’s real? Somehow?”

“ _Yes_.”

The creature sighed, disappointed. “There’s hope in you yet,” it said, slinking away. “But it won’t last. You’ll see. This world is not for you. It never was.”

* * *

Mana rose before dawn, to the Lirene’s surprise, and was quickly set to work patching threadbare shirts and trousers with little scraps of cloth. 

It was a relief to have something to do. She’d half-hoped the events of yesterday were some kind of bizarre dream, but every time she’d opened her eyes after the nightmare, she saw the same ceiling and, by now, the reality of her situation had sunk in completely. 

She really was stuck in Kirkwall.

Mana sniffled, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to make an appearance at the thought, but thankfully, after a few measured breaths, the feeling passed. 

Thereafter, she forced herself to focus wholly on the rhythm of her sewing. 

By dawn, she’d patched six shirts and two pairs of trousers, and she was so focused on her work that she failed to notice the door open. 

“ _Mana_ ,” Lirene said, setting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. “Varric’s here.”

Mana jerked and instinctively looked up.

Varric waved from the middle of the room with a grin. “Busy?” he asked. 

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t…”

“…notice me. Yeah, I got that, Red.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and Mana couldn’t help but smile. “Well, come on. We’re off to go”—his eyes shifted to Lirene for a fraction of a second—“job hunting.” 

Mana stared, then shot to her feet, face burning. Lirene must have spoken to him while she was wrapped up in her sewing. “Right. Job hunting.” She set down the shirt she’d been mending and looked to Lirene. “Is it all right if I—” Lirene waved her off, and Mana drifted towards the door leading to the backroom. “I’ll be back in a second. I’ve got to get my…walking stick.”

As soon as she was out of the room, she heard Lirene mutter something to Varric, and Varric muttered in return, chuckling. 

Mana retrieved her staff and checked her coin stash. She had ten silver coins left, seven coppers, and a single gold. She muttered the numbers in her head a few times before shoving the pouch back in her boot, then after a cursory check of her “inventory” – she had the money, a staff, her phone, and seven peppermint candies; she’d folded up the copy of _Darktown’s Deal_ in her blanket and left it – she headed back into the main room where Varric was waiting. 

“Ready to go?” Varric asked. 

Mana nodded, and they headed outside. 

“So, you’re looking for a job,” Varric said, amused, as they headed down into the Bazaar. 

Mana pulled her coat tighter around herself and shrugged. Varric’s teasing made her feel less bad about all the deception, and with the casual way he’d admitted he was helping her out in the spirit of nosiness yesterday, she felt absolutely comfortable in giving a clipped, “Yup.” 

“And a book.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Not a morning person?” Varric guessed. 

“I just didn’t sleep well,” Mana muttered. 

“Hmm,” Varric said, thinking. “I’ve been wondering. How’d you get here?”

Mana rubbed her hands together for a moment, stalling for time until she found an appropriately vague answer, sensing the question was somehow a trap. “The usual way,” she said at last. 

“Right. And those clothes of yours are Hercinian?” He laughed. “The red is…very red.”

Mana’s brow furrowed. “Is that why you called me Red before?”

“Well, it’s that and one of my friends refused it as a nickname. Said it was uninspired.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “But I like it. So, you get to have it now.” 

“Thanks?”

“Thank me by telling me where those clothes are really from.” When Mana stiffened, he chuckled at her. “Red, I’m a member of the Merchant’s Guild. I may never have been to Hercinia, but I’ve seen plenty of goods from there. Your clothes don’t fit the bill—and don’t get me started on your accent.”

“What’s wrong with my accent?” Mana wondered.

Instead of answering, Varric pointed at the docks, which they could now see from their current position. “We have to take a boat to the Gallows,” he said, “since we’re not on official business.” 

Mana made a face. 

“It’s a short trip,” Varric promised.

“Right,” Mana said, sighing. She ran a hand down her face and followed him to a staircase leading directly down to the docks. It struck her about a dozen steps down that she must seem very ungrateful. No matter what Varric’s reasons were for helping, he _was_ helping. “Thank you for doing this by the way. It’s—”

Varric threw a grin over his shoulder. “Never thank anyone before they’ve delivered on their promise first, Red.” 

“In that case,” Mana said blandly, rolling her eyes as soon as his back was turned, “my thank you has been redacted until further notice.”

* * *

“Who the hell decorated this place?” Mana whispered as they passed through the courtyard of the Gallows. All along the walls, there were statues of gaunt figures. Each and every one depicted was in agony. They flinched back from unseen blows. They reached out to the sky and to passersby, begging silently for assistance. 

“ _That_ would be the Tevinter Imperium,” Varric answered.

“Yeah. Well. They suck.” 

Varric laughed. “No kidding. But the templars seem to like it. They’ve never tried to change it anyway.” 

Mana glanced around the courtyard as casually as she could, and within seconds, she spotted a templar, then another and another and another. They were easy to pick out with their gleaming silver breastplates and red sashes. “There’s so many,” she observed, not sure what else to say. She had so many questions waiting on the tip of her tongue, but she knew asking any of them would only heighten Varric’s suspicions about her.

“Well, this _is_ the Kirkwall Circle.” 

“True,” Mana said, as if she knew what she was talking about. They stepped into a smaller courtyard with a handful of stalls, and Mana seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Who should I start with?”

Varric rubbed his chin, considering. “Let’s try Solivitus first,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of a red-headed man in gray and lavender robes. 

“Varric!” someone shouted. 

Varric immediately turned towards the sound of the voice, crying, “Hawke!”

Mana turned with him, eager to catch a glimpse of this Hawke character everyone kept mentioning, and gasped.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he was a cousin. His skin was the same chestnut color as her mother’s, and he was willowy like all her maternal uncles. And his nose! It was wide and strong. Really, the only anomaly was his eyes. They were gray, like his armor and his halberd. 

“Hawke!” Varric called again, beckoning the man over. “What? You miss me already? It’s barely been twelve hours.”

“It’s barely been eight,” Hawke replied, offering a small grin. He came to stand in front of Mana and Varric, and his grin slowly slipped away. Up close, Mana could see he looked a little haggard; there were bags under his eyes. “I’m not…interrupting anything, am I?” he asked.

Mana shook her head as Varric answered, “Well. I promised to help Red here with something.”

Hawke blinked. “Wait. I thought Aveline was Red.”

“What can I say?” Varric said with a shrug. “She didn’t like it.”

“And that’s…stopping you?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

After a moment of thought, Hawke nodded. “Fair enough.” 

“I’ll come up with something for her someday,” Varric promised. “You need me for something, Hawke?” 

“I found Keran,” Hawke said. “Or rather, he found me.”

“He’s alive?” Varric sounded surprised.

Mana shifted, uncomfortable with how casually he’d asked the question, and cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you to talk with your friend,” she said, turning her body in the direction of Solivitus’ stall. 

“You sure?” Varric asked. 

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’m just going to go have a look.” 

“Who _is_ that?” she heard Hawke ask as she walked away. 

“A fascinating new character in _Hard in Hightown_.”

Mana made a face – she’d skimmed enough pages of _Darktown’s Deal_ for that comment to raise some alarm – but continued on. Already, her thoughts were returning to magic and books and home. 

“A friend of Varric and Hawke’s?” Solivitus greeted with a smile. 

“Yes,” Mana said, noting the fond way Solivitus said Varric and Hawke’s names. “I was wondering if you had any books in stock?”

Solivitus retrieved a handful from a crate at his feet and passed them to Mana. She thumbed through them while he retrieved more from behind the stall. 

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Solivitus asked kindly, setting five or six books on the counter. 

“No. Not really,” Mana answered, trying not to seem so desperate as she turned pages. “Varric told me you had some books I might be interested in, so I thought I’d come browse. I hope that’s all right?”

“Of course. Of course. Take all the time that you need.”

Mana nodded absently and continued her examination. The first book, _The Chant of Light_ , wasn’t promising. There were mentions of magic, but Mana quickly caught on that it was a religious text. It was too metaphorical and poetic to be of any practical use, so she set it aside. The next book, _In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar_ , was a text detailing the travels of a clergyman and also wasn’t of much use to her, and the book that followed it was useless, too, being a long-winded rant about the unholiness of magic. 

She glanced up to check on Varric and Hawke. 

They’d drifted closer to some shaded pillars on the dockside of the Gallows and were now talking with a templar. 

At first, Mana only saw a bit of armor and his sash, enough to identify him only as templar, then Hawke moved a little to the right, directly into the shade, and she caught sight of the templar’s face. 

It was the man from Tarohne’s lair. 

“Shit,” she said. 

“Serah?”

She jumped but quickly plastered on a smile for Solivitus. “I’m sorry. I just realized—I forgot my coin pouch at the shop.” She partially threw the books into his arms before moving away from the stall. 

She had to get past the group without being seen. She had to—

“Halt!” 

Mana broke into a run, startled by the shout, but she only made it about four steps before an armored hand clamped down on her wrist. 

“ _I said halt_.” It was another templar. He was blonde and stern-looking, with dark rings around his eyes, and his grip was like a vice, holding her firmly in place. 

Mana stopped struggling, half because it was pointless and half because she was already thinking of how to dig herself out of trouble. “I’m sorry,” she said, wincing at the fear evident in her voice. “I didn’t realize you were talking to me.”

The grip tightened. “Then why did you run?” 

“You scared me!” Mana cried. “It was so quiet and then—”

“You have a staff,” he interrupted, seizing it with his free hand. 

Mana let it go. She’d fought off the other templar, but there was no doubt in her mind that she’d lose in a fight against this one—and he had reinforcements. “It’s just a walking stick.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard _that_ one before,” he sneered. 

“Red! You okay there?” 

Mana almost burst into tears at the sound of Varric’s voice. 

“It was bold of you to come here, apostate,” the templar said, paying no heed to the approaching footsteps. 

“I’m not—”

“Cullen,” Varric said, drifting into view. Hawke quickly followed and, after him, the templar she’d saved. “Can’t a woman buy a book in peace?”

“She was acting suspicious,” Cullen said, looking from Mana to Varric to Hawke. “Is she a friend of yours?” His lips thinned to an unhappy line. 

“Yes,” Hawke said to Mana’s surprise. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “She’s just come to Kirkwall, Knight-Captain. She’s skittish, is all.”

“She seemed friendly enough with the Formari.” Even as he said this, he let go, and Mana stumbled sideways. As soon as she regained her footing, she planted herself next to Varric and Hawke. 

“The Formari didn’t shout at her,” Hawke said coolly. “I know—” 

For whatever reason, Hawke stopped talking and went very still. 

Mana looked to Varric for an explanation, sensing Hawke hadn’t just lost his train of thought, and he shot her a significant look that screamed, ‘Don’t say anything!’ So, she didn’t. 

“Oh,” Cullen said, blinking. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes and he now saw Mana as she truly was. He straightened and offered her a little bow of his head, then her staff. “I _was_ mistaken, serah. I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s…all right,” Mana said uneasily, taking the staff slowly for fearing of setting him off again. She had no clue what had so suddenly changed his mind. “Just don’t do it again? Ever?”

Hawke snorted. 

“I must be more careful,” Cullen agreed, eyes distant. Once they cleared, he looked Mana over and said, “Forgive me. It’s just you—” He shook his head and began again, “You look an awful lot like—” His eyes went flinty. “I must go.”

They watched him go in silence. 

“You _were_ telling the truth,” the other templar whispered, once Cullen disappeared into the Circle. 

“You two know each other?” Varric asked. 

Mana ignored Varric and pointed a finger at the templar, pissed now that the scarier templar had departed. “I was!” she said, working herself into a good and proper rage. “I told you. I’m not a mage or an apostate or a malefi-whatever-the-hell-you-call-it! You—”

“You really did save me,” the templar whispered, almost awed. 

Mana’s eyes narrowed. “I did.”

“So,” Hawke said, looking between her and Keran. “You’re not one of Tarohne’s, I’m guessing?”

“ _No_.” Mana turned her glare on Hawke, then quickly deflated. He’d stood up to Cullen for her. “No, I’m not. I swear. I—she kidnapped me.” She smiled apologetically at Varric. “I didn’t lie about everything,” she swore. “I _am_ looking for a book. I just—"

“Don’t trust me?” Varric guessed. 

Mana winced, not sure how to respond to that statement because it was the truth. 

“Keran told us a woman— _you_ freed him,” Hawke prompted. 

“After I escaped,” Mana said, nodding. 

“Do you know what she wanted from you?” 

“Not really,” Mana said, squirming. Mentioning demons at all seemed ill-advised. “She kept going on about sacrifices and templars, but I don’t know what her plans were.” Again, she looked to Varric. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I’d only been in the city for a few hours.”

“How _did_ you escape?” Varric asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“She put me under with a spell,” Keran said, clearly also curious to know how she’d done it. “ _I_ couldn’t break it.”

“Oh, what does it matter? We’re free, and she’s—” Mana frowned. “Is she still down there?”

“Probably,” Hawke admitted. 

Mana shuddered and rubbed at her injured wrist. “ _Perfect_ ,” she muttered. 

“Do you think you’re a target?” Hawke wondered. 

“I don’t know.” She worried her lip. “But she _was_ looking for another sacrifice. I know that.” 

Keran and Hawke exchanged a glance. Hawke sighed after a moment and said, “I’ll look into it.” 

“I’m going with you,” Keran said. 

“Oh?” Varric said, surprised. “Not that I’m arguing, but you templars usually leave the dirty work to Hawke.”

“I’m only a recruit,” Keran said. “And this has gone on long enough.”

“I’m going too,” Mana said. She wanted no part in the expedition, but it felt necessary what with the luck she’d been having since she came to the surface. She knew it was likely she’d missed something in her initial, hasty search of Tarohne’s lair. 

Varric laughed outright at her declaration. 

Mana tapped her staff on the ground, irritated. “What? I know I might not look like much but—”

“I wouldn’t underestimate her, Master Tethras,” Keran interrupted, eyes flickering to his crotch with a wince. 

Both of Varric’s eyebrows shot up. 

“No,” Mana said, jabbing a finger in his direction. “It wasn’t like _that_. I—”

“She hit me,” Keran explained in a rush, blushing. “With her staff.”

Varric chortled, even more tickled in light of the explanation. “Oh, this is definitely going into the book.” 

“Focus, Varric,” Hawke said. “Keran, you know where she’s holed up?”

Keran nodded. 

“All right then,” Hawke said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I try to use canon characters wherever I can, but I had to make a few OCs for Lirene’s shop (Jarin and Malkyn). Hope y'all can forgive me. ;)  
> (2) And just FYI, I do have a tumblr (ecarius dot tumblr dot com). I've posted images of both my Hawke and Mana (search the "anywayhk" tag) for your viewing pleasure.


	5. In Which the Truth Comes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mana's first battle goes as well as one might expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be frank, I'm in a reallyyyy bad place right now mentally (and tbh physically lol), so this is probably not my best work. But it's done, and I'm mostly satisfied with it, so hopefully y'all enjoy it. If not, I'm begging you to just...move on and not give me any grief about it. I'm really not in the mindset to deal with people's complaints right now.

Mana’s companions tried to coax more information out of her after they left the Gallows, but she stubbornly kept her mouth shut, mostly for fear of getting herself into any more trouble. As a result, the focus quickly shifted to Keran. When they started down a dockside staircase in pairs, Varric, who’d taken up the rear with Mana, said, “So, they’re letting you rejoin the Order?” 

“They are,” Keran replied uneasily. “Knight-Captain Cullen wasn’t pleased—but with the numbers being what they are, he couldn’t exactly refuse me.” His jaw clenched. “And anyway, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This…Knight-Captain Cullen’s awfully suspicious,” Mana mumbled. 

“Not to say I’m defending him,” Hawke began, glancing over his shoulder, “but he was suspicious of that other recruit, Wilmod, and he _did_ turn out to be an abomination.”

Keran halted so abruptly that Mana ran right into his back. Luckily, Varric had quick reflexes. He grabbed hold of Mana’s arm to steady her and effectively prevented her, and Keran, from toppling headfirst down the stairs. 

“Thanks,” Mana said. 

Keran, too focused on Hawke, didn’t acknowledge the save at all. “What do you mean Wilmod turned into an abomination?” 

“He was with you,” Hawke said carefully, “at the Blooming Rose.” 

Mana hadn’t heard of the place, but she could guess what kind of establishment it was what with the way Keran’s cheeks had started to redden.

“Yes,” Keran said, clearing his throat. “Cullen wanted us to make some inquiries about the other missing recruits. We thought it might be some kind of…test. There were some rumors about a secret initiation ritual. Wilmod spends—” He grimaced. “— _spent_ a lot of time at the Rose. Almost all the recruits do. So, we went there to try and retrace the others’ steps.”

“You spoke to Idunna?” Hawke guessed. 

“How did you—?”

“Idunna told us.”

Varric snorted, then mumbled under his breath, “Not as easy as Hawke makes it sound.” 

“We don’t know what happened to him after the Blooming Rose,” Hawke continued. “Idunna said she enchanted you both and sent you to Tarohne, but for whatever reason, he returned to the Gallows a few days ago. You didn’t.” Keran opened his mouth to ask another question, but Hawke simply shook his head. “Ruvena told us he was out of his head when he came back. Then right after he returned, he left again for whatever reason and set up camp outside the city. When we found him to ask about you, Cullen had already caught up to him.”

Keran looked to Mana. “Did you see—"

“I’m sorry,” Mana said with a shake of her head. The nature of the conversation unsettled her. “I didn’t see anyone else besides you. Besides, you said this happened a few days ago?” Hawke nodded. “I just got here yesterday.” 

Keran started walking again, though more slowly than before. “But—why _hold_ me? What were they planning to do to me?” 

“I don’t know,” Hawke said, falling in step with Keran. “According to Idunna, their goal is to build a new ancient Imperium by bringing down the Order from the inside out.” He made a face. “But I don’t think she knew all the particulars. She left that to Tarohne.” 

“The ancient Imperium?” Mana couldn’t help but ask. 

Keran and Hawke paused to throw baffled looks over their shoulders, but Varric looked unperturbed by her ignorance. 

“You saw a sample of their work at the Gallows,” Varric said. Mana grimaced at the reminder of the horrible statues, and the dwarf chuckled before offering her a sympathetic pat on the arm. 

“Blood mages like _her_ want mages to rule again,” Keran said through gritted teeth. “They want to be _magisters_.” 

Mana made a face, more out of confusion than anything – what the hell was a magister? – but only Varric seemed to notice. 

“Yes,” Hawke agreed without inflection. 

Keran stopped again and whirled to stare down Hawke. “You’re an apostate,” he said, to Mana’s surprise. “What do _you_ care that she’s kidnapping recruits or trying to start a war with us templars?” 

Hawke’s lip curled. “I _don’t_ care. The Order’s brought this upon itself.” When Keran opened his mouth, no doubt to retort, Hawke silenced him with a chilly glare. “Mages like Tarohne and Idunna exist for a reason. I don’t agree with them or their methods, but can you really say you don’t know why she and others like her are as desperate as they are?” Each word that came from Hawke’s mouth was spoken with such sharp and cold precision that it stole the breath from Mana’s lungs. “Or do you, like the rest of your holy Order, blind yourself to the truth of what’s really happening in the Circle?” 

Hawke gave Keran plenty of time to answer, but Keran stood there for so long with his mouth hanging open that Hawke snorted and continued down the stairs. After he was out of sight, Keran released the breath he’d been holding and said, “Shit.”

“He’s, uh, very…intense?” Mana said, mostly to fill the silence. 

“ _Hawke?_ ” Varric said, feigning disbelief. After a moment, he sobered and said to Keran, “You know…he was looking for you because your sister asked him to.”

Keran flinched. “She told me.” 

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she also tell you that when she offered to pay him, he refused?” Varric gave Mana a nudge, and together, they passed Keran to go catch up to Hawke. 

Mana waited until they were a good ways away before asking, “Why _did_ he offer to help Keran then? If he hates…” Mana didn’t finish her sentence, unsure if she understood the situation properly. 

It was clearly mages against templars, but from what Mana could tell, the templars held more, if not all, of the legal power. Vincento had been deathly afraid of drawing their ire, and at the Gallows, there had been all those religious texts backing what was probably the core belief of the templars—and, perhaps, society at large: _Magic must serve man, not rule over him._ Mages were made to serve, probably under the supervision of the templars, and it was no wonder Hawke, an apostate, had answered Keran’s rude question with such coldness, especially since he was doing Keran, and the templars it seemed, a favor. 

“Hawke’s incapable of refusing people who come to him for help, even if they are templars.” Varric huffed out a laugh. “That’s one of the reasons we love him. And he respects _why_ Keran joined up, I think. He’s in the same boat. They’re both doing what they have to for their families.”

“I…can understand that.” 

“ _Can you_?” Varric was clearly pleased to have a reason to turn the conversation back on her. “Do tell.”

“Tell what?” Hawke interrupted. He was standing a few feet ahead of them with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Red here was just about to tell me all about her family.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Mana sputtered. 

“You’ve got to give me _something_ to work with here.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“So secretive,” Hawke said. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he observed Mana, but before he or Varric could press the matter further, Keran caught up to them. 

“It’s, uh, this way,” Keran said awkwardly, pointing them in the right direction. 

Hawke nodded once and started off, and Varric shot Keran a significant look that had the templar recruit wincing. 

“Hawke!” Keran said.

Hawke halted abruptly but didn’t turn around. 

“I—thank you for coming. I know you didn’t have to. Just like you didn’t have to look for Wilmod. You’re—” Keran’s faced started to turn tomato red. “You’re a good man. I shouldn’t have—”

Hawke put a hand, stopping him from going on. “I understand,” he said. “Let’s just…finish this already.”

Mana watched the exchange uneasily. She got the sense that Keran’s words hadn’t been forgiven or forgotten, but she also suspected this little spat was going to be the least of their concerns in a moment. 

While she hadn’t really paid attention to her surroundings after she’d fled Tarohne’s, the corridors were starting to look vaguely familiar. Which meant they were closing in on Tarohne’s lair—and, perhaps, Tarohne herself.

* * *

As soon as they entered Tarohne’s sanctuary, an unseen force slammed the door closed behind them.

Mana was the only one who jumped, but thankfully, no one else seemed to notice. They were too busy drawing their weapons. Keran unsheathed his sword. Varric hoisted the strange mechanism up off his back (at last, Mana could see that it was a crossbow, however strange), and Hawke took up took up his halberd – _staff_ – and gave it a graceful twirl.

A pleasant warmth settled over Mana’s shoulders. When she squinted, she saw a faint silver shimmer in the air around Hawke, Varric, and Keran. Hawke had enveloped them all in some kind of magical shield—and just in time. 

Seconds after Hawke cast his spell, two patches of ground ahead of them started to lift and deform. A bone hand broke the surface, then another, but before anyone could make a move to stop the literal undead from rising, a trio of fiery demons appeared. They were bulbous and molten with patches of glowing skin where they were, presumably, the hottest—and they were furious. They howled and snarled and hissed, then rushed towards the party with their long limbs raised high in preparation to strike. 

Hawke, Varric, and Keran threw themselves at the demons without hesitation. 

Mana lingered near the door, frozen and ashamed. She thought she’d mustered enough courage to face this bravely, but she realized now how laughably unprepared she was to face the realities this strange new world had to offer her. 

All she could do was watch and listen. 

The cacophony of sounds – the sharp cracking of Hawke’s ice magic, the mechanical clanks and pops of Varric’s crossbow, the swoosh of Keran’s sword slicing through the air – was like a sort of music. Her companions, likewise, reminded her of dancers, swinging around the demons, engaging, retreating. 

It was the most horrifyingly captivating display she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t make herself tear her eyes away. 

Then Keran slammed his full weight into one of the demons, sending it gliding back towards the closed door and Mana. The demon shook it off, hurled off a fireball the size of Mana’s head at Keran, then, to Mana’s horror, focused its white-hot eyes on a new target. 

Mana, who’d been struggling to get her legs to cooperate since she’d caught sight of the skeleton hand, sucked in a deep breath and resigned herself to the fiery death that was sure to ensue. “And this is how I die,” she muttered, cringing as the demon positioned itself in front of her. 

“Mana!” Keran shouted. He was busy fending off one of the skeletons. With the help of the demons as a distraction, it had finally managed to crawl out of the ground. 

“Game over,” Mana said bitterly. 

The demon hissed, steam rising up out of its mouth. “Game?” it said, elongating itself so it towered above her. “ _You_ do not play games.” 

Sweat started to slide down Mana’s neck. “Sure, I do,” she tried, baffled as to why the demon wasn’t going in for the kill. “And, uh, why is it that you think I don’t?” 

A clawed hand came down on the shield surrounding Mana, dispelling it, and the demon snarled directly into her face. “Purpose—” 

Mana couldn’t explain why the word set her off. One second, she was terrified and cowering, convinced that she was one misstep away from claws in the face. The next, she was ruthlessly whacking the demon on top of the head with her staff and shouting, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” 

There was no finesse or technique to her attack. An unexplainable desperation drove her to keep hitting the demon over and over without pause until Hawke stepped in and finished it off with some ice shards to the chest. 

It was the last one, so after it was dead, Mana was free to put her hands on her knees and catch her breath and mutter, at irregular intervals, “Fuck.”

“You…all right there, Red?” Varric asked after about three fucks.

Mana straightened like a shot. “No!” she blurted. “No, I am not all right. We just fought demons and _fucking skeletons_! I absolutely hate this place! Demons! Mages! Two moons! What the fuck is next? A dragon?” 

Hawke gaped at her, then slowly turned to look at Varric. The two shared a significant look.

“There…” Keran began. Mana whipped her head around to glare at him which sent him flinching back, even as he went on, “There isn’t actually a dragon… _is there_?” 

Mana’s irritation melted away as the implication of his question ever so slowly sunk in. “Oh my God! You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” She looked to Varric and, without a thought or a care, asked, “Is that a thing? Tell me that’s not a thing.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Red,” Varric said bemused, “but dragons are a thing.” 

“ _Oh my God_. I hate this place.”

“When you say…” Hawke said slowly. 

He didn’t have a chance to finish his question. A garbled shout went up in the next room, and then there was a familiar laugh. 

Tarohne. 

“She knows we’re here,” Keran said grimly. 

Varric snorted. “No shit.”

* * *

“Hawke,” Tarohne greeted pleasantly, eyes drifting from Hawke to Keran as they came down the stairs into the room with the bookcases. “You found our runaway vessel. And—” Her mouth snapped shut when she lifted her head and saw Mana on the landing with Varric. 

“This is the worst day ever,” Mana muttered. 

“It was _you_ ,” Tarohne said to Hawke, furious. “You freed them both!” 

Hawke frowned. “No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, Hawke,” Tarohne hissed. “You pretend to be like _them_ ”—she pointed at Keran—“but you’re like us. You seek power. You—you _stole_ her from me.” 

Hawke, Varric, and Keran followed Tarohne’s gaze to Mana, and Mana did her best not to squirm. 

“This is my first time in this place,” Hawke said in a reasonable tone. “I haven’t stolen anything, or anyone, from you.” 

Tarohne ignored his rebuttal. “What did you offer?” Her white lips curled into an unpleasant smile. “She has no need of a vessel—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mana said, unable to take anymore. “I am _not_ a demon.” Tarohne, and indeed everyone else, looked stunned by the declaration, then they were all a mix of emotions. Confusion. Disbelief. Suspicion. Mana couldn’t find it in her to be properly scared, though she knew she ought to be. She continued, “Or a mage. Or an abomination. Or—or whatever it is you think I am.” 

Emotions passed over Tarohne’s face, one after another, until she settled on amusement once more. “I won’t be fooled,” she said. “You’re not like the others. That was the point. Xebenkeck promised you would be unlike anything this world has ever seen.” 

Mana opened her mouth, but she didn’t have words. She was stuck on the odd name: Xebenkeck. 

“What are you talking about?” Keran sneered. “What are you trying to accomplish here? You think a couple of abominations are going to bring down the Templar Order?”

Tarohne chuckled. “No,” she admitted. “The chaos would weaken you, but to destroy you, I needed something else.” 

“What, Tarohne?” Hawke said, brow furrowing. “Why do you think Mana is a demon?” 

“Because she is! I summoned her.” 

“Knight-Captain Cullen smited her,” Varric pointed out. “She didn’t flinch.” 

Tarohne looked delighted by the information. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“How is that wonderful?” Keran asked, frustrated. “If she was a demon, she would have reacted to the Knight-Captain!” His brow furrowed. “And before, she would have fought with—" 

“Won’t you tell us your name?” Tarohne interrupted, looking at Mana intently. When Mana didn’t answer, she went on, “Perhaps, you don’t remember it.”

Mana squeezed her staff tightly. “My name is Mana, and for the billionth time, I am not a demon.”

“No, of course not,” Tarohne conceded. “A Forbidden One is not just any—”

Without thinking, Mana lunged for Tarohne, screaming, “Shut up!”

Hawke caught her around the waist to keep her from having a go at Tarohne. Mana struggled but, after a few minutes, went still in his arms, ashamed and frightened by her own behavior. 

“Tarohne, you’ve made a mistake,” Hawke said, again in that chilly tone of his. “She’s not—”

“I followed the path laid out before me, and she appeared in the binding circle before my very eyes.” Tarohne’s voice was just as cool and more than a little self-assured—and why not? Mana _had_ appeared in her binding circle. “There’s no mistake, save one. _You_ interfered. _You_ offered her something else. _You_ have taken what should have been _mine_.”

“Hawke,” Varric whispered, fingers inching towards the trigger on his crossbow.

About a half dozen hulking gray and purple demons appeared, forcing Mana and the others away from Tarohne. Hawke released Mana to cast another shield spell but not before saying, “When this is over, you owe us a very, very good explanation.”

“We’ll see if I live that long,” Mana replied, scrambling out of the way of one of the demons as it tried to slam into her. 

These demons weren’t as agile as the fire demons from before, nor did they seem as intelligent. After a few minutes, even Mana was able to guess their attack patterns. They’d slither within range, swipe, then retreat and sway for moment. If someone got too good a hit in, i.e. not Mana, they’d slink off to find a new target—which was why, after a few minutes, all three of the demons that had managed to survive Varric, Keran, and Hawke’s wrath were clustered around Mana. She did her best to force them back with the butt of her staff, but it didn’t make much of a difference. They quickly gave up their melee attacks to perform some kind of wicked magic on her instead.

Trails of blood colored mist snaked out of Mana, and the demons absorbed it – _her lifeforce_ – into themselves with pleasure. It was strengthening them and, of course, weakening her. After a few minutes, Mana couldn’t lift her staff much less keep them back. 

One of the demons bowled into her, knocking her flat on her ass, then planted its claws in her chest. 

Mana ensuing scream came on top of Tarohne furious shout, “ _Why don’t you fight_?” And the claws came down again. 

Distantly, Mana heard Varric cry, “We’re losing people!” But everything that came after that was a blur until, at last, Mana shut her eyes in an attempt to better ride out the pain. 

It felt like a blink, but the next time she opened her eyes, it was deathly silent. Hawke was kneeling beside her and pressing a slim, red vial to her lips. “Drink this,” he said when he noticed that she was conscious. 

Mana couldn’t muster enough care to resist, and after a long sip of the herby liquid, the pain became…manageable. “Hands down,” Mana mumbled, as Hawke withdrew. “This was the shittiest day ever.” 

Hawke snorted. “I’m out of mana, potions, and poultices, and a shit healer besides, so you’ll have to make do with that for now. Can you stand?” 

“I don’t know,” Mana said, forcing herself up on her elbows with a wince. She raised a hand to her chest and winced again, at the pain and the blood and the shredded fabric. “Where’s—”

“She’s dead.” 

Mana swallowed at the blunt pronouncement. “I was gonna ask where’s Varric and Keran?” 

Hawke clearly didn’t buy it, but he let it slide. “Right,” he said, rising to his feet. He bent to offer his hand. “They’re looking to see if they can find anything useful. You were out for a bit.”

Mana took his hand but still struggled to get to her feet. “Worst day _ever_ ,” she reiterated, glancing down at the ground where her staff lay, half covered in dirt. 

Hawke retrieved it for her, then planted a hand in the middle of her back and steered her to Varric and Keran. They were picking through Tarohne’s bookcases without much enthusiasm. 

“You look like shit,” Varric said to Mana when he caught sight of her and Hawke. 

“Flatterer.” Mana took a deep breath to try and recenter herself and immediately regretted it. Black spots flickered before her eyes, and she swayed where she stood. 

Hawke steadied her, and eventually, the feeling and intense pain flare receded. 

Mana cleared her throat and asked, “Find anything?”

“Beside this book on turning dragon’s blood into spicy sauces?” Varric said. “Not much.”

Keran stepped forward with a mostly burnt piece of parchment in his hand. “We found this in the fireplace.”

Hawke took it, and together, he and Mana read what little remained of the original message: — _must hide them. We cannot lose these most precious_ —this part seemed to have been deliberately burned out— _we have found. If this succeeds, we will_ — 

And that was all there was save for the signature, which was a simple and cryptic ‘O.’

Mana sagged against Hawke, disappointed and a little lightheaded. Once again, spots started to dance before her eyes. 

“Let’s get her to Anders,” Hawke said, giving her a little nudge.

Mana barely remembered their departure from Tarohne’s. The only thing she could focus on beyond the pain was putting one foot in front of the other until next thing she knew, she was perched on a cot, getting worked over by a blond with glowing hands. 

“You should take it easy after I’ve healed you,” the blond said. “You lost a lot of blood.”

To Mana’s amazement, the pain in her chest started to recede after a few minutes. “You’re…Anders?” she guessed, glancing around the room. It was a lot like Tarohne’s lair, in that it was dark and rundown like the rest of Darktown, but this place had neat little cots and tables laden with what seemed to be healing supplies: more red potions, some blue potions, bandages, and herb cuttings. 

Hawke and Varric were sitting by one such table nearby, chatting lowly, but they stopped as soon as Mana looked their way. They got up.

The blond laughed quietly. “That depends. What did Hawke say about me?” His eyes flickered to Hawke, who was approaching now with Varric, and he smiled warmly. “I mean, _Anders_.” 

Mana chuckled and was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t hurt at all. “Nothing really,” she said. 

“Well then. Yes. I am Anders.”

The glowing of Anders’ palms started to dim, and he stepped away. 

“Thanks,” Mana said, tentatively reaching up to feel where her wound had been. Her shirt was still a wreck, but the shredded skin was completely healed. “I feel awesome, which is pretty amazing considering I felt like I’d been put through the…” She made a face. She couldn’t think of a Kirkwall-appropriate simile. “Nevermind. You’re a miracle worker, is all. Thanks.” 

“Watch it, Hawke,” Varric teased. “She’s after your mage.” 

To Mana’s amusement, Hawke started to fidget and rub the back of his neck, and Anders’ cheeks started to redden. 

Hawke coughed. “I think...it’s time for that explanation, Mana.”

That zapped the humor right out of all of them. 

Mana’s lips thinned to a line. “Right. _Right_.” She frowned and gave the room a quick once-over. “Wait. Where’s Keran?” 

Hawke shifted uneasily and shot Anders an almost apologetic smile. “He left. We can’t let any of the templars know where Anders’ clinic is located. It’s...not safe.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mana felt there was more to it than that but couldn’t bring herself to press. “Um, about that explanation. Where do I even start?” 

“The beginning?” Varric suggested, just as Hawke said, “Start with Tarohne. How did you fall into her hands, and how did you really escape?”

Mana took a deep breath and told them all about her sudden displacement, her first meeting with Tarohne, the binding circle, Keran, and the theft of the book she’d stolen from Tarohne. “I don’t know why any of this is happening,” Mana concluded. “Just—I didn’t come here, to this world, on purpose, all right? And I’m not a demon, I swear. And I just—I just want to go back.”

“That’s why you wanted the book?” Varric guessed. 

Mana nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” Anders said. There was something off about his voice when he continued, “You said you’re not a demon, but _this world_ , you said. You mean the Fade, don’t you? You’re…possessed by a spirit?” 

“No, no, no. I am _not_ possessed. I meant what I said. I know it sounds nuts, but I’m certain I come from another world. _Not the Fade_. It only has one moon, and it’s called Earth.” 

“Right,” Anders said, unconvinced. 

“Do you have any proof?” Hawke asked. 

“Oh!” Mana shoved her hand into her coat pocket and clumsily withdrew her phone along with a couple of the peppermint candies. She offered each of them a candy while she booted up her phone. 

Hawke flipped the candy over in his palm. “What is this?”

“It’s a candy,” Mana said, punching in her passcode. She glanced up briefly. “You, uh, have to take the clear wrapper off.”

“What’s this made of?” Varric asked, crinkling the tail ends of the candy wrapper. 

“Plastic,” Mana answered distractedly. 

She was trying to decide what feature to show them. She needed something truly impressive because they clearly didn’t believe her. 

Eventually, she pulled up her camera and snapped a pic of Varric, Hawke, and Anders as they examined the candies she’d given them, then flipped the phone around to show them. “Is this proof enough?” 

Varric’s eyebrows rose to new heights. “Well, shit.” 

“Maker!” Anders cried. “How did you—”

Mana did it again. 

“How many times can it—?” Hawke asked, looking at though he wasn’t sure how to feel about the device and its capabilities.

“ _A lot_. They’re all stored in this device, and I can access them all whenever I want,” Mana answered. She looked at the amount of battery life she had left — 82% — and immediately scrambled to turn her phone off again. “At least, as long as it’s charged,” she added, dropping it back into her pocket. 

The others didn’t seem to hear the last bit. They were too busy talking about the candies and the phone and _Mana’s world_. 

Mana knew she should listen and see what they made of everything, but she couldn’t make herself focus on the conversation. It was enough to know they were _excited_ rather than suspicious or afraid, and though it had been a relief to have everything off her chest, telling her story had left her exhausted and raw. 

Eventually, Hawke’s voice drew her back into the conversation. “ _Mana_ ,” he said. “Did you hear me? I said, ‘We believe you.’”

“I—that’s good,” Mana said awkwardly. They eyed her skeptically, and she tried to plaster on a smile. “No, really. I mean it. Thanks...for believing me. I know it’s a wild story. I’m just…tired.” She took a deep breath. “Can you help me? Get back, I mean?” 

Hawke and Varric exchanged a glance, and Anders said apologetically, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before. I’m not sure I even understand how you came to be here much less how to send you back.” 

“The book might have some answers,” Hawke said. “The boys you mentioned...I think I might be able to find them for you.”

“I can—” Mana began automatically. 

Hawke put up his hand. “There’s really no need for you—”

“But—”

“What he means,” Varric said, not unkindly, “is that you’re more liable to get hurt than to help.”

Even though that was the truth of it, the words stung. Mana hung her head and nodded sharply. “You’re probably right.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Hawke said slowly, “but I’ll do my best to help you.”

“Thanks,” Mana said. She licked her lips. “I…liberated a bit of money off Tarohne before I escaped, so I can pay. I’m not sure how much I have but—”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Varric shook his head. “Hawke, how are you ever going to get fifty sovereigns if you never charge anyone for your time?” 

“I almost have enough,” Hawke said dismissively. To Mana, he said, “For now, keep it. You may very well need it.”

Mana shuddered and said no more on the subject, sensing that he probably too right.


End file.
